"Never mind," said the boy, wiping the mud from his face; and turning away, he walked quietly up the road. Marjorie looked after him ruefully. "What is the matter?" asked the Dream. "I don't exactly know," said Marjorie; "but there is a mistake somewhere." "Why didn't you let him help you?" asked the Dream. "I didn't need his help. I could do it alone." "But perhaps he needed to help you." Marjorie bit her lip. "I wanted to do it alone," she said. "I thought it was my work. I wanted to work, and I was glad that it was hard, and that the stones were all that I could lift,--it made it seem more like doing something." The Dream was silent for a moment, and Marjorie stood dabbling the toe of her shoe in the water. At last, "Were you selfish?" asked the Dream. "Yes," said Marjorie, in a low voice, "I was." Then she went back and gathered up her roses, and she and the Dream walked slowly on, soon finding themselves on the outskirts of a town. Presently the streets grew dingy and the houses high and narrow. "I don't see anything to do here," said Marjorie. "Couldn't we go back into the country again?" "Don't you see anything to do?" asked the Dream, and just then Marjorie noticed a little child standing on the curbing, it's hands clasped and it's eyes fixed upon the bunch of roses. Selecting the largest and most beautiful one, she placed it in the child's hands,--and a little farther on she gave two to a weary-looking woman,--and then a bud to an old man whose eyes moistened, and whose fingers trembled as he placed it in his button-hole,--and then a flower to a ragged, hard-featured boy, who held it awkwardly for a moment, his face transfigured, and then dived into the door of a dismal tenement. And all the way up the squalid street Marjorie distributed her bright blossoms, and always with a cheery word and smile.